2- Streets

Some medical innacuracies in here, explanation in end authors note :3

Bang!

Noatak's fingernails cracked and broke off his fingers as he watched his brother fall limp on top of his mother.

Wet gasps filled the room, accompanied by the distant murmuring of the boy.

"Tarr-l-lok." He couldn't tear his eyes off his brother. He had always heard that when someone died it was like the light left their eyes, but it wasn't true for Tarrlok. His eyes, still wide open, shone with fear, a real, lively fear. Tears still leaked out of his unblinking eyes, freely falling onto his mother's shirt.

He stared into those terribly vivid eyes until he heard the scuff of boots. With a shaky gasp he turned his head to the woman. Staring down the barrel of a smoking rifle, he felt his mouth contort into a bloody grimace.

"Damn you…" he muttered, "Damn you to hell." As blood dripped down his chin, he glared down the dark hole of the barrel. He let out a garbled scream as he tried and failed to lift his arm. "Damn you!" He wanted to grab her neck, twist it until it made that crunch the cows' necks always made, he wanted to do anything that wasn't anything looking at his brother. But he couldn't do it. He couldn't raise his arms, he could barely move his fingers, let alone feel those strings. He screamed, for no other reason than just to scream. It made his chest feel like it was caving in on itself and like his head was about to pop right off his neck, but he screamed.

He didn't move his fingers, but he could feel those strings in his head. Like a pressure on his skull, he needed to get rid of that pressure, he needed to pull that string. So he did. He wildly tugged on the string, and he felt that familiar sick feeling in his stomach as the woman gasped and rose into the air.

"Damn you!" He screamed, before tugging on the string that held the most pressure on his head. The woman let out a yell as she was slammed into and through the wall. "I'll-" he shrieked as a sharp pain stung his chest, "I'll kill you! Do you hear me? I'll fucking kill you!"

He wetly groaned as he felt a new set of strings in his head. He knew what they were, for some reason, he knew exactly what they were. He tugged them, and let out a sick scream as his own body was tugged into the air. It felt like a massive, rusty meathook was embedded in his shoulder, hauling him off the ground. "Kill…" he painfully dragged himself to the wall he had sent the woman through, "You…"

He was met with the fields of the ranch, swaying grass, and a starry night sky. But no killer. A mix of a sob and a scream escaped him, and he let go of the string he had been holding, letting him fall limp onto the floor.

He felt all the fight drain out of him, and gargled sobs tore out of his throat. "Why! Why! Why!"

He dragged himself to the body of his brother and cradled the limp head to his chest. He sobbed, for no other reason than to sob, and he screamed for no other reason than to scream, he cried for his family for no other reason than that he had loved them.

Noatak had stayed in that house three days before he forced himself to get out. Drifting in and out of consciousness, he had managed to make his own blood spit out the bullet, which had looked like a wad of hardened hair, out of his chest. He had painfully manipulated his blood to put his bones back in the right place and waited until they had partially fused themselves back together again.

Every step he took down the road to the city send crippling pain down his spine and begged him to stop, but he would not.

He found himself wandering the streets of Kamino, shirtless and still very much covered with both his own, and the blood of his family.

People gave him dirty looks, but otherwise ignored him. He knew this was a shitty part of the city, people were probably used to things like this.

He took in deep, uneven breaths as he forced himself to keep walking. He didn't know what he was doing. He didn't know where he was going. He just roamed the streets, not trying to talk to people, glancing at what the TVs in storefronts played, staring at the pretty birds. Anything was better than looking at his brother's eyes, even the sight of a massive eagle snatching up and crushing a pigeon with its talons was nicer.

One step. Two steps. Three steps.

He counted, because he didn't know what else to do.

Four steps. Five steps. Six steps. Seven steps.

He should probably tell the police.

Eight steps. Nine steps. Ten steps. Eleven steps. Twelve steps.

He paused, and dully turned his head to look through the window of an electronics store and to the TV playing.

"Everybody who shoots guns is jealous of her right arm." It looked like a cowboy with a gas mask was talking. Only a hero would be wearing something like that.

"Unfortunately," The camera snapped to a well-dressed woman, "The Lovely Lady Nagant was not able to make it to this interview, but we do have some clips from other interviews she has made it to."

Noatak's tired eyes immediately widened as the woman who killed his family showed up on the screen. She was smiling, like she hadn't shot a child in the head while he clutched to the mother she had just killed.

She spoke, but Noatak couldn't hear anything. The memories of his brother screaming and crying flooded his mind until they were interrupted by the sound of a gunshot.

He ran. He ran and ran, ignoring the shards of glass digging into his feet, the way crowds parted around him, the screams of his brother. He ran until he found a police station, and he rushed through the doors, causing all heads to turn to him.

Some looked concerned, some looked scared, some looked hostile, their hands creeping for weapons.

"My family!" He screamed, for the first time since they had been killed, "They were killed!" At that, some officers glanced at the blood splattered on his chest. "The hero, Lady Nagant! She shot them!" He gasped for air, tears welling in his eyes as he remembered the look in her eyes.

"Mhm." The receptionist looked at him with thinned lips. "Sure she did kid. Nagant's a hero, pick some villain for the prank next time."

Most of the workers went back to whatever paperwork they had been doing, completely ignoring him.

"No!" He yelled, his voice cracking, "I'm not lying! She killed them!"

The receptionist shot him an annoyed glare. "Listen, kid, prank's over. Get out."

"It's not a damn prank!" He slammed his fist onto the receptionist's desk, causing a picture frame to fall on its back. "Lady Nagant killed my family!"

A loud breath escaped her nostrils, "Kid. Get. Out."

"No!" He slammed down his other hand onto the picture, causing a crack to form on a little boy's head. "You- You need to do something! Arrest her!"

He felt a strong hand rest itself on his shoulder. "Listen, son," he turned, and saw a large man in what could only be a hero costume, "you should leave."

"No! No! My family's dead dammit! You need to do something!"

The hero bored down at him with condescending eyes. "Are you alright son? Ya' know," a gleam appeared in the man's eyes, "I hear there's been a lot of kids doing some illegal drugs 'round these parts."

"N-No!" Noatak felt his throat grow tight, "I'm not on drugs!" He gasped for air, but found he could barely breathe, "You gotta arrest her!"

The mans fingers dug into his shoulder. "Let's go, son."

It had gotten dark, and it looked like it was gonna rain. After being kicked out of the station by the hero, Noatak chose to sit in an alleyway.

He tried to think, to think of anything to do. But all he could think about was how angry he was. Angry at Nagant, and the police, at the hero. He felt an itch, deep under his skin. It felt like it was burning his bones. He tore the skin of his wrists scratching at them, he could feel skin under his nails, but that itch wouldn't go away.

It was just as the first droplets of water landed on his face that he heard something from outside the alley.

"Please! My family is starving!"

He heard a grunt as a man was slammed by the entrance of the alleyway. "You thief!" The hero from before walked next to the man with an air of arrogance. "You will pay for your crimes villain!"

"N-No! No, it was just some bread!" Noatak's eyes locked onto the man's hand as he produced a loaf of bread from his pocket. "Here! Take it back!"

The hero slapped the bread away with a haughty laugh. "You tryna bribe me son?" His voice dropped into a growl, "Bribery of a hero is illegal!" In a quick move, he slammed his fist into the thief's face.

"No no! I'm sorry! I'm sorry! Please!"

The man was kicked onto the dark, deserted street. The hero stalked over to him, a wide grin on his face. "Villains like you," he lifted his foot over the man's knee, "are a stain on society!" The man screamed as his knee was crushed. "Dang villains!" The hero's breathing grew erratic, his whole body shook with excitement.

Noatak eyes trembled as they tracked the hero dragging the man closer to the sidewalk.

"Now," the hero breathily started, "bite the fucking curb!"

Just as the hero raised his boot above the man's head, Noatak reached for those strings he felt in his head earlier.

Nothing.

Crunch

A tooth flew down the alley, rolling against Noatak's foot as the hero madly cackled. He could see the blood still staining the roots. He could feel the control he held over it, like it was mocking him. He could feel the color drain from his face and his contort into a grimace.

"Ugh." The hero grunted. He dully took his eyes off the tooth to look, "Gotta fuckin' clean this now."

Noatak rose to his feet, stepping over the tooth, and found himself standing by the entrance of the alleyway, right in front of the dead man.

The hero looked away from his phone, hearing him approach. "Huh? Oh, 's you." He returned his eyes to the screen. "Piss off while I get this cleaned up. Talk and you'll end up like 'im."

He tried to reach for those strings in his head, but couldn't grasp them. Why can't I do it now? I did it back in the house.

"Who the fuck am I kiddin'? Not like anyone'll believe ya'."

Why? Noatak couldn't tear his eyes off the sight of the man's head, crushed and mangled, leaking blood onto the sidewalk.

Why did he have to do that?

"Fuckin' finally," the hero tucked his phone into his pocket, "Clean up'll be here in a few, piss off kid."

The man began walking away, hands casually in his pockets like he hadn't just killed a man. Like he had done his duty. Like he was the strongest man alive.

Before he knew what he was doing, Noatak found himself rushing the hero. He needed to do something, he couldn't just let a murderer get away scot-free. Not again. He was wildly tugging at the strings, trying to do anything, anything at all to hurt the man, to kill the man.

Slap!

The second his hand made contact with the man's back, he wildly activated his quirk, indiscriminately tugging every string he could feel.

The man gasped, freezing in his tracks. He turned around to Noatak, a vicious snarl on his face. An elbow flew backward, aiming for his-

Splat!

The man's elbow disappeared. So did the rest of his torso. Noatak stared, inhaling the horrid scent of rust, as a pair of legs lifelessly swayed back and forth. A red mist surrounded him. The man.

The walls of buildings around them were painted red and pink. He could tell it was the man's.

His head felt so cloudy, so numb. But at the same time, it felt so clear. His sinuses felt clearer than they had in years, the rusty scent of what used to be a man freely flowing through them. It felt as natural as the smell of grass, like it was made for him to smell.

The strong kill the weak.

It was something Noatak had known his whole life. Something he had seen. It was how the world worked, he knew that.

Birds eat the worms, villains kill civilians, humans kill the cows.

The hero kills his family. Kills the beggar.

It was how the world worked. But it was wrong. That system had killed his family, killed that begging father.

His bare feet padded against the sidewalk.

He hated it. He hated it so much.

People screamed and ran away as they saw him.

The strong prey on the weak. So if nobody was stronger than each other, everything would be good. Life would be good.

He knew what he looked like. He was wholly covered in blood, head to toe.

But what was he supposed to do?

He stopped walking as he realized where he was.

He was standing in front of the police station.

The same police who had ignored him.

He walked into the building.

Why did they ignore him?

He ignored the panicked way the receptionist began screaming for help.

It was because the heroes were big and strong and could never do anything wrong.

He sighed as he laid his hand on the receptionist's shoulders.

And he was just some dumb, weak child.

The woman froze under his bloody touch.

Splat!

She was gone. And the wall behind her had been painted red.

Officers pulled out their weapons, screaming at the boy.

Everything felt clear again. That stench of rot in his nose, the warm blood running down his face, it all felt so clear to him. He could do something.

These were the strong people.

He rushed forward, and the second he got within 5 feet of an officer, he felt the strings.

If I kill them all, there would be no more strong. Everyone would be equal, everything would be good.

Crunch.

The officer's body twisted and contorted in terrible ways. He screamed and fought against the quirk, but was soon reduced to garbles and whimpering.

With every officer he killed, every bullet he tanked, the strings grew easier to tug. With every dead cop, he could feel the fear in the others spike.

One cop's chest caved in as he got close. Another's body twisted until the crunch of bones was heard. He ripped the blood out of someone. He snapped a neck.

"Please! Please!" He stood over the last man, completely soaked in blood. "I- I've got a family! Kids and a wife! Please don't kill me!"

The man was trembling on the ground. He looked so weak. Was he really about to kill this weak man? Wasn't he trying to protect the weak?

He crouched next to the man.

No. Even the strong ones are weak before they die.

He put his hand over the man's face.

The skin warbled and distorted, before his head popped, leaving a bare skull and the remains of his flesh scattered around him.

- So some medical innacuracies are in this chapter, my excuse for this is that human physiology in mha is very different. I just assume every human is just stronger and heals faster because the quirk singularity making every human stronger to adapt to quirks or something like that

- I know the capabilities of the quirk are kinda vague and seem inconsistent but theres an explanation, itll come later.

- Wanna clear up, again, there will be some morals and ideals characters possess that i do NOT endorse

- Love you :3